


hot coffee (turned cold)

by jaeman (longassride)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, coffeeholic!jaemin, foodholic!jeno, midnight snacks with jaemjen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 12:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17183426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longassride/pseuds/jaeman
Summary: Jaemin is not complicated like Mark, not brash like Donghyuk, not foulmouthed like Renjun, not naïve like Chenle and not childish like Jisung. Jaemin is always easy, not like him. It only takes three different dishes and three cups of coffee to make Jeno his.





	hot coffee (turned cold)

Jaemin is not complicated like Mark, not brash like Donghyuk, not foulmouthed like Renjun, not naïve like Chenle and not childish like Jisung. Jaemin is easy, not like him.  
  
Every Saturday’s dawn—right when the clock strikes 2.30AM—Jeno finds himself sketching the outline of Jaemin’s back from his seat behind the dining table while waiting patiently for the boy to cook his midnight cravings. His tired eyes create a path starting from his left shoulder to right shoulder, strictly following the nook and curve of his upper body until it meets the starting anchor again. Over and over again, like a doodle in the history’s class. And his sleep-addled mind with a decent amount of hunger will make those paths move like GIFs, rigid with limited frames and movements.   
  
Jeno is satisfied, nonetheless. It keeps his mind preoccupied without words being exchanged between them. The last thing they need to do is waking up the whole dorm by their noises and Jeno won’t like it too. He can’t put it into words about the brief solitude life with Jaemin in their small kitchen but he knows the ugly monster in his chest will launch himself to whoever intruding his private moment.   
  
Is he jealous? Maybe no. Maybe it’s not even jealousy in the first place. It’s more of a mild obsession. No, Jeno doesn’t want it to sound like he’s dingy. Let’s say, Jeno is just a hipster. He alienates Jaemin from being known in toto after the reality that they are public figures and Jaemin’s equally “shared” by his beloved fans and families most of the time. He wants a little part of Jaemin that only he is able to see and that’s the purpose of Saturday’s dawn’s cravings for. An overlaid meaning, an overlaid craving.   
  
“Eat, Jeno.” And Jeno loves it that Jaemin uses a limited amount of word without unnecessarily making it like an order. Indeed, they both have a deep baritone voice but Jaemin has an octave lower, making a person with a gift like him sound more intimidating than Jeno already is. But Jaemin never scares Jeno or anyone in particular, excluding his aegyo and tooth-rotting behavior on-air. In fact, his voice is soothing and safe, like a father’s arms hugging his kid.   
  
Jeno lets out a sleepy “thanks” with a wide smile that is complimented by a pair that his eyes form. He catches the dull sound of Jaemin’s cup of coffee meeting the wooden dining table instead of a reply. The pungent scent of the warm soy sauced fried egg rice is mixing with the hand-ground coffee’s strong one in the air, embracing each other instead of trying to evanesce one.   
  
Jeno can tell from the solid dark vortex inside the cup that it’s not stained white with any sweetener or creamer, just the way Jaemin likes it. Out of all mathematical measurements that Jeno learns, the ratio of Jaemin’s coffee is the only one that needs no equipment and complex formulas to memorize. The comparison of the coffee powder and sugar will be constantly two to zero teaspoon.   
  
Between the ticking clock and hunger, Jeno can feel Jaemin’s eyes on him, red and bleary due to sleep deprivation and untimely wake-up call. He looks up to meet them, trying to look as innocent as a child for an unknown reason. Jaemin only exhales softly before breaking their eye contact, taking a sip of his coffee again, saying:   
  
“Are you that hungry to ambush me like that?” Jeno giggles at his remark, not because he feels bad for waking the other up but his choice of word that tickles him. If attacking the boy with a good cuddle and at least a hundred annoying coaxes defines the word ambush, then he won’t know anymore which one is being overdramatic: Jaemin or the person defining that word in general dictionaries.   
  
Jeno sticks his tongue out playfully as an answer before proceeding to eat his heavenly dish again. Jaemin only scoffs before sliding another bowl of rice that stops only a few millimetres from his current bowl, yet colliding it.   
  
“Cute.” Another sip is taken and another stare stays forever. 

 

It’s already Saturday again before everyone realizes and Jeno finds himself sitting on his usual seat on the dining table, waiting for a nonexistent occurrence. The ceiling lamp is like a vintage projector, shining upon his head where he stores the slides of today’s sequences. The atmosphere of their fansign event is still fresh in his mind and vivid in his skeletons and muscles, throbbing like being hit by hammers all over his body.   
  
The warm water corroded the pain, flushing them to the underground tunnel, but it was incomplete. He needs sleep to restore his vitality. And while everyone else has discarded the thought of staying up late, even taking a proper bath, because they only have one percent energy remains, there is Jeno sitting like a dumb, wide awake and fully conscious in the kitchen.   
  
Jeno turns his head towards the sound of the bathroom door being opened. The rusty hinges have been acting like announcers ever since, alerting the kin that their turn is coming. Once the door is closed, the hinges no longer make creaking notes. It’s the soft friction of the sole of slippers against the polished plywood that takes the baton at giving Jeno clues to whoever it is in the corridor.   
  
He slowly gets the imagery of the person in the dark, walking forward while drying his hair with a towel. Without needing to look up, Jeno can tell the owner of The Neighbourhood’s shirt once the light is on it. Weirdly, just like Jeno is so sure of the person’s identity, the other’s steps towards the kitchen are just as sure.   
  
“Sleep, Jeno,” says Jaemin while proceeding to sit across him, still excessively drying his hair with a hand.   
  
“Why don’t you, Jaemin?” The other retorts with no harm in his voice. Jaemin stops drying his hair and simultaneously looks up to Jeno. The boy across him is paying attention more to his wet hair instead, how it’s ruffled and messy because he vigorously rubs it up and down his hair shaft. Jeno trails a single drop of water on the other boy soaked strand, gliding to the edge that falls near the corner of his left eye before completely giving up to the gravity.   
  
Like the aperture of a camera, his pupil shifts his focus to the dark orbs beneath the brown strand, altering its focal length to the distant object. And Jeno feels like it’s a wrong movement, for daring an intense person like Jaemin. His intuition tells that before his mind goes blank as if Jaemin owns a blackhole that really exists in there, sucking his thoughts and consciousness into an unknown pitch-black realm inside the other’s head.

  
For a moment, Jeno feels like he is being held captive by the other in his unbreakable enigma rather than diving into Jaemin’s deepest self. He is not reaching a certain level of understanding and knowledge of the boy, damn, he is not even sure if his intuition is right about Jaemin’s motive. Yet, he feels like he is shrinking under his scrutinizing eyes. He tries to make assumptions, about what the other boy is doing but the more he thinks, the easier it breaks into million pieces, leaving him mindless and blurred out.

  
Jeno is struck by an unfamiliar feeling rushing down his vein. This is the first time they lock eyes for a long period and Jeno finally understands him a little deeper. It’s like trying to tell the sunrise orange and the sunset orange apart when you can say that both are orange. Observing and wanting, both have an alternative, simplified pathway called staring. He feels them in his skin, the chain he feels like captivating him, and unknowingly shudders. Rather than creeped out, Jeno feels more confused and attracted to his newfound discovery although he is not getting used to the behavior.

  
“J-Jaemin,” he starts with shaking pupils. The other boy remains stupefied but his expression changes as if he is finally awoken from his trance. “Yes?”

  
“I’m hungry.” Three seconds until Jaemin nods and lifts his body off his seat to quick cook a meal.

  
Guilt hangs heavily in the air for the rest of their hang out with Jeno slowly munching his pancake and Jaemin sighing every three minutes, wanting to disappear but not quite wanting to leave the jet-black haired alone in the dark.

 

  
“Why didn’t you tell stylist noona that the sweater is itchy?”

  
“Desmond Doss transferred his fellow privates down the Hacksaw Ridge with his bare hand until it bled and he complained not.”

  
“Is that the only reference that you know?” Jeno talks in a mocking manner before throwing the poor fried shrimp into his mouth.

  
“At least, it makes me feel smarter. History reference always makes you feel smarter,” Jaemin replies without looking at the subject of the conversation because his coffee needs a perfection. He can’t look away, yet.

  
Jeno smirks behind his back, goes unnoticed but he is proud as hell, and says, “So, you admit that you’re dumb.”

  
This time, Jaemin takes his time to pivot and show his protruding lips to his best friend, a symbol of disappointment and disagreement. It only lasts until Jeno breaks into a laughing fit and he is back to brewing his coffee again. Like usual, they both have to keep their sound low so other members won’t find out about Jeno’s little moment in there.

  
The last piece of the pancake is already waiting on the plate, demanding to be eaten, to gracefully enter his digestive system. He eats it gleefully, thrusting his fists to the air and dancing silently as an appreciation to the tasty meal. Jaemin smiles at his antics, the semi-mirror material of the kitchen set let him knows whatever is happening behind his back.

  
“Seriously, though, Jaemin. Why didn’t you tell noona that it’s itchy? I mean-“

  
“I’m dumb, Jeno. Let’s just say that I’m too dumb and I don’t possess any decent diplomatic skill to ask for a new outfit.” Jaemin brings his coffee closer to his mouth before settling it on the dining table, his body is fully turning towards Jeno right now.

  
“You can, Jaemin. You can always pick your own style!” Jeno convinces. Jaemin doesn’t answer quickly this time, smiling from his standing position to something on the other’s face that he is not aware of.

  
“Come here, Jeno. Lemme tell ya something,” the boy gestures him to lean closer with his hand, which Jeno complies easily with no hesitation. Past memory has forgotten, stored at the back of his head. He flutters his eyelids slowly a few times like a curious kid with a slightly jutted out lower lip at the instruction.

  
Jaemin leans in, closer than what’s needed to talk casually. He has one hand hidden inside his hoodie’s pocket and the other swiftly brushes Jeno’s cheek where a grain of rice is glued. He leans back enough to savor the other’s shocked expression, totally enjoying the new splash of color on his slightly tapered cheeks. His warm hand never leaves the boy’s jawline and Jeno finds himself leaning into the faintly rough hand of Jaemin.

  
“People need to shut the fuck up about Na Jaemin being cute because they need to see the natural cutie in my hand, don’t they?” Jaemin’s voice is dangerously low, almost touching the seductive line, and Jeno shivers. He is taking a mental note for this new physical reaction over the boy’s flirty remark as a part of the observation, science purpose.

  
“I’m not cute,” says Jeno between his quivering lips.

  
“And I eat shark.” Jaemin’s hand moves from the jaw to cup his chin and he leans even closer that Jeno feels the other’s lips brush his ever so slightly. It still sends electrifying sensation all over his body from his head down south to his toes and his grip on each side of the chair is tightening as his breath hitches. Jaemin is sucking his saneness with his push-and-pull movement. He has two options in his hand: Jeno’s sanity or his lips. Both are unprotected and free.

  
“I’m simple, Jeno. I listen to people’s comments, I let it flow out again. They want me to be soft and cute, I’ll follow. They want me to look fierce and mature, go ahead. Under the clothes, it is still me, Na Jaemin, the dumb, cheeky, and flirty boy. And as long as I’m remembered as a kind, loveable person, I don’t care if they call me cutie or hottie. I won’t even care about roles that people assign me for my behavior because I know they never know completely who I am. Their judgment will always be 50-50. And I have nothing to prove.

  
“But it’s not happening to you. You, who I spend years and grow up with. You are not shallow. Your intuition has a hundred percent chance to be correct. You can tell my feelings apart just easily. And if it’s not correct too,” Jaemin’s eyes trail down his feature, down to his nose, down to his lips again, and it stops there. “I’ll correct it. Just for you.”

  
Silence follows afterwards, words caught in Jeno’s throat, to weak to break free. He doesn’t realize that he has completely leaned into Jaemin’s touch, the energy in his muscles and skeleton is leaving his body, the nutrition bedamned. Dizziness is swarming his head like a troop of ants, crawling to his vision too, as he can’t properly supply oxygen to his lungs. He flutters his eyes close to putting them at rest.

  
Jaemin presses his lips gently to the corner of Jeno’s lips. The other is not fighting back, not moving away, or deliberately pinching Jaemin for the affection. He has lost the power to do so and he just wants to fall into the other boy’s arms. A heavy exhale comes out from his mouth, fanning Jaemin’s flushed cheek. He doesn’t realize how much air that has been long held inside, he doesn’t even realize that he has been holding his breath. Maybe, Jeno has been holding it even longer than a year. Longer than what they have become after the debut.

  
“Sweet dream, Jeno.” Then, Jaemin parts himself from Jeno, leaving his cold coffee on the table and the boy to his respective room, the only room with a single habitant in it. Jeno is left alone for the first time since they begin hanging out at the dawn. Jeno doesn’t want the dark or the solitude. Jeno doesn’t want to be alone with his thought, not after what Jaemin had done to him.

  
So, he rises from his seat and bolts toward Jaemin’s room, opening and slamming it close with his last power to find Jaemin’s still not far from his position. The boy eyes him, the dim light of the sneaky moonlight is concealing his confusion with a beautiful glint.

  
“Yes, you are very simple and easy, Jaemin. You speak only when you want to say something, you don’t listen to other people’s thoughts. You follow your own will,” says Jeno sternly, surprising the younger with his powerful tone.

  
“Then, why don’t you do that to me now?“ Jeno pulls Jaemin by his neck, close enough to his face that he can feel Jaemin’s breath hitting his skin. He stares right into the boy’s eyes, looking for a little hint of fright but Jaemin is unexpectedly good at control. But Jeno is not losing again. His competitiveness burned wilder when he opened his eyes to a cliffhanging emptiness.

  
“Why didn’t you just kiss me like whatever you have imagined?”

  
Jeno makes the last eye contact with Jaemin before the latter pushes him to the door with both hands cradling his face and kisses the light out of him. Jaemin takes his upper lips, sucking the lesser lip like a hungry man. He pulls back only to dives in again, savouring Jeno again and again like he finds a new addicting taste in it and he can't simply stop.

  
Jeno’s hands find their way to his neck, tangling his lithe fingers to Jaemin’s brown locks, while Jaemin slides his to Jeno’s chest and halts on his waist where he decides to loop it there. Once in a while, he runs his fingers up and down the boy’s spine every time he deepens his kiss. Jaemin licks Jeno’s lip with his tongue, asking for an entrance, and the boy complies, only to fight back the other. There’s a battle of dominance in every movement they make but Jaemin, the most patience out of the two, easily gives in, letting Jeno freely explores him and takes control.

  
When he finally hums a contented sound and pulls his tongue, Jaemin kisses him again slower but nothing shallower than what he has recorded. He lets out a small groan when Jeno grinds him and he decides to pull him closer just like that, giving their bodies a totally zero space. The room is no longer silent once they are flushed to each other and kissing like tomorrow won’t come.

  
They eventually slow down, reducing their pace and unrevealed desire from those nights spent only for eating and sipping the bitter substance until one’s blood pressure pinnacled. Those nights of thinking and assuming. Like a pair of puzzles, they finally match. Their lips, their fingers, their bodies together, feel like they are made indeed for each other. And it’s relieving to know that, that they are really together now, as an effortlessly matching pair. Unlike their usual routine where they are sitting face to face but not completely a whole.

  
Jaemin leaves Jeno’s lips, tracing feathery kisses to his jawline and down to his neck. The other boy tilts his head a little, giving more of his milky skin for Jaemin. And Jaemin leaves the same feathery kisses along his neckline, discovering the older’s sensitive spot along the way and the boy lets out a moan. When Jeno finally calls his name shakily, just like his fingers on Jaemin’s neck and the boy stops. He looks at him with so much love in his eyes and Jeno know he is immediately a goner.

  
“Is this how you imagine yourself kissing me?” Jaemin cracks a small fit of laughter that’s totally adorable, Jeno notices, and nods.

  
“Actually, if you stop at “why didn’t you just kiss me”, I won’t go further than just testing the water, you know? But you are originally a cutie and a tease. Who knew your additional instruction would be so on point?”

  
Jeno slaps his chest ineffectively before saying, “I hate you” adorably in the most natural way. Jaemin doesn’t need a special skill to know it’s the other way around, so he just laughs before pulling Jeno into a warm embrace. His coffee is cold but it doesn’t matter anymore. It never matters from the beginning of their midnight hangout. It’s always Jeno that matters.

 

  
Every Saturday’s dawn—right when the clock strikes 2.30AM—Jeno finds himself sketching the outline of Jaemin’s back from his seat behind the dining table while waiting patiently for the boy to cook his midnight cravings. The smell of warm food mixes with Jaemin’s freshly-brewed coffee. And Jeno loves to make Jaemin’s coffee turn cold before the boy can finish it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello peepss!! After so many blessings to renmination i decide to bless nomination (no pun intended) HAHAHA. How jeno loves to make jaemins coffee turn cold depends on your imagination ;D 
> 
> ANYWAY BUSWAY SUNDAY, CANDLE LIGHT IS SO CUTEEEE IM SCREAMIN’ THE JAENO AND MARKHYUCK HINGGGG ;;;-; GO WATCH EM!!!
> 
> Talk to me in tumblr @murkcurry like im lonely bruh. SCREAM ABT YOUR BIASES BE MUTUALS WHATSEOEVER AND HAVE A NICE HOLIDAY


End file.
